No More Lonely Nights
by Benevola
Summary: Summary: The council has met, and Sam and Frodo meet back in Frodo's room. Sequel/Continuation of Declaration of Love.


No More Lonely Nights  
  
  
  
And I won't go away until you tell me so  
  
No, I'll never go away  
  
--"No More Lonely Nights" by Paul McCartney and Wings  
  
-----  
  
It was after the council, and Frodo was numb. I'm going to Mordor, he thought to himself. He supposed that he had always known that—that he'd be the one to take the Ring to Mount Doom—but there was always a small part of him that hoped he'd be able to go back to the Shire. Back to Bag End and his normal, if not slightly dull, life.  
  
Frodo sighed as he came to the door of his room. He stood and admired the intricate carvings that decorated the hallway by his room. Rivendell was a beautiful place, and Frodo knew there would be times when his memories of the hidden elven valley would be all that he had to carry him through. And Sam, too, of course. Dear Sam. He had vowed in front of everyone that he would accompany Frodo to Mordor, oblivious to the dangers that lie ahead. All he wanted was to be where Frodo was.  
  
At that thought, Frodo remembered Sam's confession from that morning. He smiled to himself and a warm feeling began seeping through him. They had talked about getting together again after the council, but Sam had hurried off before Frodo had the chance to speak to him and confirm their plans. Frodo hoped that Sam hadn't forgotten about their talk; or even worse, changed his mind.  
  
When Frodo opened his door, he couldn't believe what he saw.  
  
A roaring fire was burning merrily in the fireplace. On a small table, there was a bottle of elven wine and two glasses. Next to that was a vase containing an arrangement of flowers that Frodo recognized as belonging in the garden under his window. As he glanced around the room, Frodo gasped in wonderment. The bed had been made, and on his pillow lay one red rose. Standing next to the bed, busily lighting candles, was Sam.  
  
"Sam, it's lovely," said Frodo, stepping into the room. Sam startled and whirled around to stare at Frodo, his face reddening. He dropped the small torch he had been using for the candles, and yelped as it singed the wooly hair on his left foot. As he scrambled around on the floor, trying to put out the flame before it set the entire room on fire, Frodo thought he had never loved Sam as much as he did right at that moment.  
  
"Mister Frodo!" Sam stood up and raked his hands through his hair. "I didn't expect you so soon…I mean…I wasn't…"  
  
Frodo walked towards Sam, smiling. "I love it, Sam," he said. Then, placing his hands on Sam's shoulders, he kissed him softly. "And I love you as well. I was worried that you had changed your mind since this morning."  
  
Sam stared wide-eyed at Frodo. "Changed my mind? Oh no! Never! I've been a wreck all day, thinking about our, um, our time together," said Sam, blushing again. "I was scarcely able to concentrate on anything else today. In fact, I was in such a hurry to get back here before you, that I ran smack into a group of young elves! 'Get out of my way, you imbecile!' shouted one, and laughed. I didn't even pay him no mind—I just wanted to get back to the room and get things…set up…for us."  
  
Frodo laughed and kissed Sam soundly on the mouth. "Insulted by an elf! That may be a first!" Then he walked over to the small table and took a flower from the vase. "You did all of this for me, Sam? For us?" he said, inhaling the bloom's heady scent. Frodo began to grow dizzy, and not just from the flower.  
  
Sam smiled and confidently stepped across the room to Frodo. "I did," he said, stroking Frodo's hair. "I only wanted the best for you, Mister Frodo. I wanted tonight to be special." Sam gazed at Frodo with heavy-lidded eyes, and ran his hands through Frodo's hair, his strong fingers tickling the back of Frodo's neck and sending the most delightful shivers down his spine.  
  
Sam paused in his stroking. "Do you remember the night we came to the house in Crickhollow, Frodo?" asked Sam. Frodo nodded. "Do you remember how Fatty Bolger had four hot baths waiting for us? And how Master Pippin sang the song about bathing?" Frodo nodded again, wondering where Sam was going with this, and wishing he'd go back to stroking his hair again. "Seeing as how…we…you and I…are…I ought to tell you that…" Sam blushed, and Frodo leaned over and kissed the heat in his cheek.  
  
"What are you trying to say, Sam?" said Frodo, eyes twinkling, a crooked smile on his lips.  
  
"I watched you, Mister Frodo. I watched you take your bath and had thoughts about you." Sam blushed again.  
  
Frodo took Sam's hand, and led him over to the bed. "Did you now?" he asked, grinning. "That's very interesting, Sam, for I was also watching you!"  
  
Sam gasped in surprise. "You watched me? And had thoughts as well?"  
  
Frodo nodded and grinned. "I certainly did, Sam," he said. He remembered Sam quickly glancing around the room while he undid his trousers and then how he practically leaped into the water, covering himself. He recalled how the muscles in Sam's back looked as he lowered himself into the bath. How he wanted nothing more at that moment to reach over and touch that strong back. Smiling now, Frodo closed his eyes and reached around Sam; stroking his back through his thin linen shirt. Sam sighed and moved closer, so that his warm body was touching Frodo's.  
  
Their mouths met—carefully at first, then with more confidence. Sam's lips parted, and he moaned lightly, feeling the first tentative explorations of Frodo's tongue. He ran his hands down Frodo's back, and settled them lightly on his hips, gently caressing the lithe body he knew lay beneath the sensible hobbit breeches.  
  
Frodo broke the kiss and gazed at Sam with soft, shiny eyes. His color was high, and his lips were as red as ripe strawberries. Sam leaned forward to kiss them again, but Frodo held out his hand instead.  
  
"I'd like to lie down now, Sam," he said, taking the other hobbit's hand.  
  
Sam nodded mutely, and followed Frodo to the bed that he had made so carefully just a few hours before. His head was spinning, and he was having a hard time convincing himself that this was really happening—he was really kissing Frodo; touching him as a lover would touch another lover and feeling Frodo's warm lips on his. How long had Sam wanted this? Years, now. Years of watching Frodo while he read his books, a tiny smile on his face for the amusing stories; a slight scowl for the more serious ones. How he would beam with joy when the first flowers opened in the spring, running from plant to plant, sniffing the blooms and happily exclaiming that spring had finally arrived. Now here he was—taking Sam into his bed. Sam shivered and watched as Frodo removed first his own shirt, then Sam's, carefully draping them both over the back of the same chair where Sam had held his vigil.  
  
Removing the rose from the pillow and setting it on the nightstand, Frodo climbed into the bed and held out his hand for Sam.  
  
"Lie down with me, Sam," he said. "Show me how to love you."  
  
Sam did just that. Within a few moments, their breeches were off. Shortly thereafter, bodies were tangled together and soft murmurs and gasps were heard. Then cries of pleasure.  
  
----  
  
Afterwards, Sam lay behind Frodo, his face resting in the curve of Frodo's neck and one arm draped protectively around Frodo's waist.  
  
"Sam dear?" said Frodo sleepily.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Will it always be like this? You and I—together?"  
  
"Always, Frodo. Always."  
  
Frodo sighed. "Goodnight, Samwise."  
  
"Goodnight, love," said Sam, and he reached over and snuffed the candles out one by one, until soon the only light in the room was that which came from two hearts. 


End file.
